[It’s an effort not to squirm. The literal Seeker of Truth didn’t make him this nervous.]
Um, [he mumbles, drawing his hand over his mouth to scrub down his chin,] don’t remember the exact month. Around the time the rebellion started in earnest. Must’ve been 9:37.
[ There's no smirk back, an even stare across the desk with his pen only barely touching the parchment. ]
The Order remained intact, empty towers or not. Even when they severed their ties to the Chantry, years later, they marched beneath a shared banner. There was a war.
[ Or did Barrow miss it? There is a bluntness to the way Marcus speaks, now, an impatience, but no spark of stronger feeling. If he's speaking to a deserter, then there are others would who sooner be upset to hear it. ]
Did all of the Templars of Jainen lay down their arms and quit the Order, or only you?
[ The answer—don't know—gets a long look, steady and dissatisfied. The follow up question steers Marcus' focus back down, initially, as he writes down another note. ]
Riftwatch has found itself the target of multiple acts of sabotage from what we might assume to be splintered Chantry-affiliated forces. It's time we knew better our own company to guard against infiltration.
As of now, you're in no more jeopardy than any of us.
[The clarity helps, and his figurative hackles lower. Barrow may be a lot of things, but Chantry-affiliated is not especially one of them.]
...it wasn't out of any religious passion that I joined the Templars, [he explains, hoping to offer some clarity in return.] I was a lad too restless for the farming life, with parents who'd only relieve me of my duties there in exchange for service to the Maker. It was an education and a ticket out of Crestwood. I had no idea what I was signing up for.
[ Barrow's hackles lower; Marcus' even regard across the desk fails to let up. Offers of clarity met with no particular give or relent, and midway through Barrow's explanation, he turns his focus back downwards to his page.
It is over the last few things he says, this picture of a child of simple origins hoping to find some form of material purpose without fully understanding where it might lead, that Marcus asks; ]
[That's a name he wasn't expecting to hear, in this manner of conversation or otherwise, and Barrow is visibly confused by its invocation. What does she have to do with anything?]
We were close for a while, played cards sometimes. I s'pose we sort of fell out of touch. [He idly scratches the stubble on his cheek.] Why?
[Huh. Somehow, this question is actually worse than the interrogation of his motives as a Templar; he leans back a little bit, scrubbing a hand down his face in anticipation of Unpleasantness.]
There was some, ah, confusion about the nature of our relationship, if I recall.
[He recalls better than he claims, on account of he's still confused about it.]
[ An instinct for weakness means that Marcus can tell that this is a soft spot, available for clawing. But there is something so distinctively inoffensive about Barrow that this desire to watch a Templar squirm has lost, just a little, of its edge. The doubt that this man is truly a co-conspirator, despite Templar, despite Fitcher.
Still, here we are. He turns his hand, a prompt. ]
[It occurs to Barrow that he might actually prefer to be back on that Venatori rack, getting all his joints re-fucked and his mind magicked to the Void and back, than to be here sharing his personal romantic failures with a man who visibly hates him. Maybe this is punishment for some cosmic sin that he hadn't even factored in, like cracking an egg on his sister's head when they were children, or for taking Fitcher to a restaurant he was confident was authentic Antivan and having to watch the light in her eyes die as he bumbled his way through a plate of perfectly serviceable spagetty, or however you call it--]
I may have perceived interest that wasn't there.
[One hand is curled awkwardly over his mouth, his posture having slouched somewhat since this leg of the conversation began.]
[ Marcus lets that answer just hang there for a second, before he places pen back to paper. Little scratching sounds in the silence as he spells out the words perceived interest, ink sinking into parchment. ]
What was your last conversation with her, before now?
[Having to think on this is a welcome respite from the current conversation, and Barrow falls silent for a long enough pause that, for a moment, it may seem like he's not going to answer. But eventually he stirs, his brow knit as he recalls.]
We played cards. Someone was getting married and most of Riftwatch had gone off for it.
[He idly runs one finger along his stubbled chin, his gaze distant.]
[ To his credit, Marcus is only patient while Barrow falls silent, watching him across the desk and awaiting whatever interesting thing will be spoken. His brow twitches at what he gets, and he notes it down.
Hardly the picture of an accomplice, and even in all his ready paranoia, it's hard to think that Barrow is capable of painting this picture deliberately.
Still. There are so few people he can ask. He continues. ]
Before or after the incident with Felix Naegle? The Abomination we slew,
[ in case Barrow has forgotten his name. Marcus is sure he has not forgotten participating in its slaying. Marcus did not, remembering that odd, holy resolve cast from Barrow's epicentre. How his skin crawled. ]
[ There's another short silence, Marcus writing something down, but the silence persists afterwards. Minor frustration, and while it isn't out of affection for Barrow that Marcus doesn't direct it at him, it's kept mostly contained. Increasingly more certain he's not going to get anything he's looking for.
So it's with a hint of that frustration when he asks, ]
Did she ever say anything to you? Of the rebellion, or of the Chantry, the Order. Of mages.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thereneverwas) wrote2018-01-29 02:21 pm
no subject
[ For all that his words are pointed, his tone trends towards flatness, frankness, scarcely looking up as he writes something down. ]
Which Circle did you serve, and what was your ranking title?
no subject
Jainen, [he replies patiently, hoping that the path of least resistance will get him out of here faster,] and just Knight. No special rank.
no subject
And when did you abandon your post?
no subject
Um, [he mumbles, drawing his hand over his mouth to scrub down his chin,] don’t remember the exact month. Around the time the rebellion started in earnest. Must’ve been 9:37.
no subject
And the circumstances of your leaving?
no subject
[He smirks lightly, discomfort bringing out what little humor he finds in the answer.]
Nobody wants to guard an empty tower.
no subject
The Order remained intact, empty towers or not. Even when they severed their ties to the Chantry, years later, they marched beneath a shared banner. There was a war.
[ Or did Barrow miss it? There is a bluntness to the way Marcus speaks, now, an impatience, but no spark of stronger feeling. If he's speaking to a deserter, then there are others would who sooner be upset to hear it. ]
Did all of the Templars of Jainen lay down their arms and quit the Order, or only you?
no subject
Sorry, Enchanter, am I in trouble of some kind?
[Asked politely enough, but with an edge of impatience: if he doesn’t have to sit here and be interrogated like a wayward schoolboy, he’d rather not.]
no subject
Riftwatch has found itself the target of multiple acts of sabotage from what we might assume to be splintered Chantry-affiliated forces. It's time we knew better our own company to guard against infiltration.
As of now, you're in no more jeopardy than any of us.
no subject
[The clarity helps, and his figurative hackles lower. Barrow may be a lot of things, but Chantry-affiliated is not especially one of them.]
...it wasn't out of any religious passion that I joined the Templars, [he explains, hoping to offer some clarity in return.] I was a lad too restless for the farming life, with parents who'd only relieve me of my duties there in exchange for service to the Maker. It was an education and a ticket out of Crestwood. I had no idea what I was signing up for.
no subject
It is over the last few things he says, this picture of a child of simple origins hoping to find some form of material purpose without fully understanding where it might lead, that Marcus asks; ]
How well do you know Madame Fitcher?
no subject
[That's a name he wasn't expecting to hear, in this manner of conversation or otherwise, and Barrow is visibly confused by its invocation. What does she have to do with anything?]
We were close for a while, played cards sometimes. I s'pose we sort of fell out of touch. [He idly scratches the stubble on his cheek.] Why?
no subject
[ almost tonelessly, but his focus on Barrow is needle-sharp. ]
When did you fall out of touch?
reanimates
Her-- [he begins to say, but trails off, struggling to comprehend.] I-- suppose about... I don't know, a year or so ago?
...what has she done?
welcome
[ —probably. Probably he wasn't at liberty to say much at all, but he sounds confident. ]
What happened a year or so ago?
Re: welcome
There was some, ah, confusion about the nature of our relationship, if I recall.
[He recalls better than he claims, on account of he's still confused about it.]
no subject
Still, here we are. He turns his hand, a prompt. ]
In short?
no subject
I may have perceived interest that wasn't there.
[One hand is curled awkwardly over his mouth, his posture having slouched somewhat since this leg of the conversation began.]
no subject
What was your last conversation with her, before now?
no subject
We played cards. Someone was getting married and most of Riftwatch had gone off for it.
[He idly runs one finger along his stubbled chin, his gaze distant.]
She told me her first name.
no subject
Hardly the picture of an accomplice, and even in all his ready paranoia, it's hard to think that Barrow is capable of painting this picture deliberately.
Still. There are so few people he can ask. He continues. ]
Did she know of your history, as a Templar?
no subject
Ah... yes. I believe I did mention it to her. [Like a stupid oaf.]
no subject
[ in case Barrow has forgotten his name. Marcus is sure he has not forgotten participating in its slaying. Marcus did not, remembering that odd, holy resolve cast from Barrow's epicentre. How his skin crawled. ]
no subject
I'm afraid I don't recall. The timing of it, I mean. There was a lot going on, around then.
no subject
So it's with a hint of that frustration when he asks, ]
Did she ever say anything to you? Of the rebellion, or of the Chantry, the Order. Of mages.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)